My Son Died While They Tested My Love

Three years ago, my husband, my parents, and my adopted sister faked their deaths to test whether I had married into the DeLuca family for love or for power.

They cut off my money, took my home, and left me and my son with nothing.

Three years later, they came back.

My husband stepped out of a black Rolls-Royce, looked down at me, and said, “Evelyn, you passed the test.”

What he didn’t know was that my son was already dead.

And I was dying too.

When I was digging stale bread out of a trash bag behind the Old Harbor warehouses, my husband came back from the dead.

A black Rolls-Royce slid through the puddles and stopped a few feet from me. The rear door opened, and Lucian DeLuca stepped out in a tailored suit, the DeLuca crest flashing at his cuff as if none of the last three years had happened.

He looked me over and actually sounded pleased.

“Evelyn,” he said. “You passed the test.”

I stood there with half a moldy roll in my hand and felt my fingers shake.

Three years ago, the whole thing had been Livia’s idea.

She had slipped her arm through Lucian’s and smiled that sweet smile she wore whenever she was about to ruin someone. “Let’s find out whether my sister married you for love or for the DeLuca name. You, me, Mom and Dad—we all disappear. Freeze her accounts. Pull the house. Cut her off from the cars, the staff, the clubs, all of it. If she’s still waiting for you in three years, then you’ll know it was real.”

Lucian had laughed. “Why wouldn’t I do it? Evelyn is crazy about me.”

He had looked at Livia then, smug as hell, like he had already won.

And now he was back to collect.

But the first thing he asked was not whether I was all right.

“Come home with me,” he said. “Where’s Leo?”

“He’s dead.”

He stared at me.

“You froze every card I had. Your lawyers took the penthouse, the cars, even my access to the gate. The hospital needed a signature for the surgery deposit, and there was nobody left willing to sign. We couldn’t afford his treatment, and he died because of it.”

For a second, he looked like he hadn’t understood me. Then his gaze swept the alley, the dumpsters, the rotting pallets by the dock wall.

But there was no one here.

Just sour garbage, flies, old harbor rot, and me.

I used to take Leo with me everywhere. Even to the bathroom. Lucian knew that. That was why he couldn’t accept that I was standing there alone.

“Knock it off,” he said, voice tightening. “I’m serious, Evelyn. I came to take you both home.”

“Home?” I laughed, and the sound cracked in my throat. “After you died, the DeLuca lawyers told me you’d left debts behind. They said the house was leveraged, the accounts were locked, the jewelry had to be surrendered, and my black card stopped working overnight. I was standing in the snow with a feverish six-year-old and nowhere to go. So tell me, Lucian. Where exactly was home?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

“That was part of the test. The house was never really gone. Stop being stubborn and bring Leo out. I’ll apologize to him myself.”

“Go apologize to him at the cemetery.”

I pulled the crumpled death certificate from my coat and threw it at his chest.

The moment it landed in his hand, I saw the tremor he tried to hide.

Leo’s name. His age. Time of death.

Cause of death: congenital heart disease, complicated by acute heart failure.

“How is that possible?” His eyes reddened so fast it looked painful. “I was gone for three years. How could Leo be dead? Are you doing this to get back at me?”

He grabbed my shoulders hard enough to hurt.

“Fine. I was wrong. But don’t do this. Don’t punish me with something like this. Bring him out.”

I only looked at him.

Then another door opened.

Livia stepped out in narrow heels and a cream coat. She bent, picked up the certificate, read it, and laughed.

“Lucian, you can’t seriously believe this.”

She turned the paper over and tapped the seal. “Look at it. The aging is overdone. The embossing is weak. The clerk’s signature is shaky. Three years ago, I was the one who arranged the paperwork for your fake deaths. I know what a real file looks like. This is amateur hour.”

Her smile shifted to me.

“You really thought this would work? I figured if you waited somewhere filthy enough and looked pathetic enough, Lucian would come back and fall for it.”

“That’s not what happened.” My voice was raw. “Leo is dead. I’m not lying.”

“Enough.” Lucian’s face went cold. He threw the certificate back at me. “I almost believed you.”

He took a step back, already choosing her.

“Bring Leo back to the DeLuca estate before tonight. He’s six years old. He doesn’t belong with a mother who lies this easily.”

He turned to leave.

I lunged after him, but Livia moved first. She leaned close enough for me to smell her perfume.

“You think I didn’t know Leo was dead?” she whispered.

My breath caught.

She watched the color drain from my face and smiled wider.

“You want to know why Lucian never found out? Every call about you and that boy came through me. The hospital contacted the DeLuca office. The family lawyers found out your son was critical. I rerouted the calls, deleted the emails, and buried every message before it reached him.”

I curled my hand into a fist so hard my nails cut skin.

She smoothed one glove finger at a time, enjoying herself.

“Poor little Leo. After you got thrown out of the Moretti compound, he was diagnosed with heart disease. There was even a donor match. But you were broke, your husband was dead, your family was dead, and you couldn’t hold the slot. You worked four jobs, begged half the city, and borrowed from loan sharks in neighborhoods a Moretti woman should never even know by name. And you still came up short.”

My whole body started shaking.

“Shut your mouth.”

I went for her throat on instinct. Lucian ripped me off her before I could do any real damage and dragged Livia behind him like she was the one in danger.

The look he gave me was pure ice.

For one awful second, he made me feel like I was the monster.